


Life's Kinda Militant

by surexit



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-28 15:25:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/309308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surexit/pseuds/surexit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tiny bit of fluff in which Eames and Arthur are teachers and Eames is totally from a council estate and is the most awesome role model ever, and then they're boyfriends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life's Kinda Militant

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd idfic for the yay.

Arthur has been an employee of Greyhill School for all of ten minutes when he sees his first fight. Or rather hears his first fight – the seeing comes a few moments later, when John Eames, the drama teacher who is showing him around, breaks into a run around a corner and out through an open door. He doesn’t pause before barrelling straight into the knot of boys, and Arthur blinks, because that is full-on Jafaikan coming out of Eames’ (gorgeous) mouth, slurred and swallowed and denuded of most g’s and t’s and th’s: “Damian, blood, back off, what’s the beef? Austin! Augustine Adebayo, _drop dat ting immediately_.” It’s a weird dissonance, full urban drawl combined with the sharpness of a teacher who means business, and it seems effective. The tight group of boys is separating, feet shuffling, occasional mutters of, “Sorry sir.” They’re sixth-formers, at that terrifying age when they consist of teenage brains lurching around in men’s bodies, and they’re all at least as tall as Arthur.

“You are _not_ getting this back, Austin. “ Eames has codeswitched back up the scale, and Arthur blinks again. And then again, as he sees Eames click a small penknife closed and drop it into his pocket. Oh. Right. The comedy of all these huge boys looking so sheepish dissipates.

“No, sir. But I wasn’t gonna-“ Austin is tall and gorgeous and pink-tracksuited, in full rude boy regalia.

“I know you probably weren’t.” Eames’s voice is clipped – furious, Arthur realises. “But everyone so close? And moving around? What the _hell_ were you thinking? What’s this even about?”

The shorter of the two protagonists, blinking sullenly, volunteers, “Melissa, sir.”

Eames raises his eyebrows. “Really. And what’s wrong with fighting over girls, Damian? Remember that chat we had?”

Staring down at the ground, the boy mutters, “Dey int property and it int a compliment, and Melissa probly don’t want either of us merked.”

“And mansdem shouldn’t use beanies as an excuse to get aggy,” another boy adds, with a slightly childlike solemnity.

Arthur is in awe, and slightly in love.

“Right, Austin and Damian, green slips, the rest of you pink sl-“

“Sir! We dint-“

“I know, that’s the point, none of you interfered. Now piss off, and I want to see those slips by the end of the day.

“Our discipline system,” he continues, turning to Arthur as the boys dissipate. “Has anyone explained it to you?”

Arthur shakes his head, hoping that his newfound adoration isn’t showing on his face. Something must be, because Eames pauses. “I’m from a council estate in Harlesden. But I can talk proper,” he adds slightly mockingly, and Arthur flushes.

“Sorry, no, it’s just the switch! It was surprising.”

There’s a slight wariness on Eames’ face as he nods. “Okay, so, you have three kinds of slips, and they’re centrally administered, which is a pain in the arse. I hope you’re bloody good at remembering names, because the little fassies will try to slip under the net.”

***

It’s a little bit fetishistic, and a little bit shameful, but that night Arthur jerks off in the shower to the memory of Eames’ Jafaikan.

***

“So what’s your story?” Eames drops down next to Arthur on the staffroom couch with a styrofoam cup of tea in his hand.

Arthur clears his throat slightly. “Uh. Ex-army.”

“Really. Switched to teaching, that’s not normal.”

“I was in more of a teaching role for the last couple of years.” At Eames’s questioning look, he adds, “Classified.”

“From one warzone to another, is it?”

Arthur laughs a little. “Yeah. And this one’s a bit more complicated, because I’m supposed to _avoid_ causing serious bodily harm.”

“Which you could.” It’s not really a question, and Eames looks a little speculative, in what Arthur hopes is a good way.

“Which I, yeah, I could. I’m pretty highly trained.” He feels like he’s bragging, which he normally never does, secure enough in his own ability to employ deadly force. But Eames has gorgeous eyes and a lovely mouth, and Arthur is pretty sure that his still-new civilian life should involve civilian flirting, which he hopes is a little less brutal than military flirting. Eames probably wouldn’t survive a round of hand-to-hand with him.

On the other hand, telling someone that you could kill them is probably not strictly civilian flirting.

***

When Eames is on the defensive, the NW10 gets laid on thicker. Arthur would be a pretty shit boyfriend, therefore, if he didn’t respond when he hears a, “Swear down, blood, these hors d’oeuvres are sick.” Hors d’oeuvres is pronounced pretty perfectly, and Arthur stifles his smile as he moves up beside Eames and nods at Horsham and his wife. “Horsham, Mrs Horsham, I see you’ve met Eames.”

“Yes,” Mrs Horsham agrees, smiling, and Arthur glances at her husband, spotting the problem straight away. Horsham nods, eyebrows still slightly raised, as they’ve probably been from the minute Eames started speaking.

“We were just talking about the manor I rep,” Eames supplies sweetly, in his best RP.

“Horsham, shall we just leave the army wives – ugh!” He’s received a precisely directed elbow to the ribs, and he moves away from Eames with a grimace. Mrs Horsham is grinning – he’s always liked her. “Horsham? Just a minute?”

“Oh, er, of course, Bentley, something wrong?” Horsham follows him through the crowd, until they’re just out of earshot, when he says, “Bentley, your boyfriend has a teenage son! And a criminal record!”

Eames has clearly been very much on the defensive. Arthur turns around. “Horsham, if you don’t stop visibly judging him, we’re going to have a serious fucking problem, you and me,” he mutters in a rapid undertone.

“Oh!” Horsham’s eyes widen slightly, and then narrow. “Well, really, Bentley, it’s just a matter of _presentation_. If he just toned it down-“

“Horsham.” Arthur is in his face before he’s though about it. “He’s on his leisure time. At a party that I told him would be at least slightly fun. That means he can talk how he wants, and you and me can step outside if you don’t stop making him uncomfortable. Clear?”

Horsham holds Arthur’s gaze for a moment, and then nods slightly. When they return to Eames and Mrs Horsham, with a mumbled excuse about having checked on the wine supplies, Eames leans into Arthur, warm and heavy for a moment, and murmurs, “Mansdem shouldn’t use beanies as an excuse to get aggy.”

“You’re not a beanie, don’t flatter yourself,” Arthur murmurs back, and pushes him off. The warmth lingers.


End file.
